Stability
by altairattorney
Summary: [post-case 3-5] You are finally sitting on your own, side by side, and for once the world will not move.


**Stability**

You meet in a corner of quiet, a few uncertain days later, when the flurry of events has toned down and you are both too tired to keep taking care of it all.

As soon as he comes in, silence spreads. You feel relieved. Everything looks easier from the comfort of your office, the cold afternoon sun softened by the curtains. The tangle of emotions and pain, of what was left untold, stares back at you from a different dimension. You let it be — in the aftermath of days spent like that, you both need to look at it from afar.

The fierce wind rests, your certainties stop shaking. You are finally sitting on your own, side by side, and for once the world will not move.

For long minutes, neither of you says a word. All the talk is left to clinking fine porcelain. You refuse to pay attention as the seconds tick by, for it is essential to take your time — you choose to focus on the slow rhythm of your ribcages, on the fact that the two of you are alive and breathing and intimately grateful for that.

You can count the reasons why you, then he, might not have made it instead. A hint of sickness washes over you, making you shiver. It is just a moment; then you are back to the present, he is back, and he inexplicably _knows_.

That does not surprise you anymore. At the same time, he always does, with every new breath. When the jumble of his first few words collapses in a sobbing mess, as much as you feel the earth shiver and your field of vision spin, amazement is both the first and the last thing to come to your mind.

You let him rid himself of that burden. In honour of the darkness you have treaded in for years, you absolutely want him to. Concern and understanding lead your hand to his shoulder with a tentative touch, warm and light, imbued with respect.

He does not move away. The weight of his trust in you makes you light-headed; and you stay as well, feeling useless yet essential. It is his turn to let go of a mask — this time, whatever happens, you will be there.

As a messy cascade of tears stains his suit, you think of everything that Phoenix is, of how he shows himself to the world. You have known firsthand how easily he gives himself away to people. Untiring, he approaches others as a giver and an anchor, a fountain of love and trust to drink freely from.

The carelessness most of them have paid him back with is staggering. Your chest aches — you were one of the first.

Now he is smiling weakly, his hands in his lap, faint red circling the deep blue of his eyes. He doesn't stop saying he is sorry, and each time falls hard on your heart. Keeping your grip steady is almost a necessity — after so many years of isolation from the universe of others, you can feel everything that is beneath his strength, all the human fatigue and care and pain. You admire him, you cherish him, so much.

Soon, you are speaking of gratitude, and trying to put in words for him what it means to be truly repayed. It may be a task greater than you, and the words may never be enough — in any case, you will do everything in your power to convey the message.

He is so worn out that, under your own grasp, you can feel his faith slipping away. It wounds you in reverse, how much he is hurting; it reaches you from deep down, from the pit he has thrown his own feelings in to take care of everyone else's first. What scares you the most, you realise in horror, is that neither of you fully knows the extent of it.

It is normal to him, a pang in your chest confirms. What is life-changing for others is his average. He would go to the lengths of the most foolish to save people from themselves — he would turn around whole situations over and over again, chase away nightmares of decades, and to Phoenix Wright it would still be nothing.

Even now, it is constantly written all over him. You read it in his gestures, his bright laughter and his stuttering, as he answers your words with the uneasy tactic of brushing everything off. He keeps existing in front of you, his face, his voice, his open heart, not nearly imagining just how much he is worth. So many are the things he does not really understand — you desperately wish you were enough to open his eyes.

When he starts thanking you for an endless list of things, you do not even have the heart to stop him. You think of the cases you have studied during the flight, your heart hammering in sorrow — you let your mind linger on all the monsters that were so close to taking his and his friends' lives, on the countless events which are eroding his faith in little bits, like untiring waves on a shore.

And there, in the frantic turns of a life as fragile and complicated as yours, you find there will always be room for him. In the flow of changing places, colleagues, working hours, his space in your heart is steady and clearly defined, built in what all timeless things are made of.

After the constant lack of recognition — after all those souls that came and went, without even acknowledging how wonderful he is — you feel you must let him know. Ultimately, everyone must. None of the people around him can afford to lose him, nor to let him become other than this; for one, you would not bear to see it happen.

Wherever it comes from, he is the first of them all to deserve his peace of mind. You cannot afford to miss this chance — thanks to him, and to the life he gave you back, it might be you to eventually save him.

_You are important_, you try to say. For the first time since you met him again, you call Phoenix your friend. And something in the way his eyes widen, in the childish curve that bends his smile, grants you that was the right thing to say.

It is your way to thank him — you will do it again, until he comes to believe it. A thousand times more, if necessary.

It may not be easy for you, but you really don't mind. You could do it forever.

* * *

><p><em>Eeee I am predictable and boring.<em>  
><em>I love emotional breakdowns that are not depicted in canon but are supposed to be there.<em>


End file.
